On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me – 12 drummers drumming.

Apollo 12 was the first moon walk.

A total of 12 people have walked on the moon.

There are 12 names for the sun in Sanskrit.

In the color wheel there are 12 basic hues.

There are 12 steps in recovery programs.

There are usually 12 people on a jury.

The 12th man in football refers to the role of the fans.

There were 12 principle gods in Greek mythology who resided on Mount Olympus.

King Arthur’s Roundtable had 12 knights.

The Beatles released 12 studio albums.

There are 12 half notes in each octave.

In numerology, the number 12 is a higher octave of the number 3 and represents careful planning and orderly growth leading to spiritual development.

My birth number is 12 before it is reduced to 3.

I was born on the day before the 12th month began.

I was 12 years old when a self-image formed that has stayed with and haunted me my entire life.

Just under 12 years passed between my sister’s birth and when I left home.

12 years passed between leaving home and getting married.

12 years passed between getting married and graduating from seminary.

12 years passed between graduating from seminary and today.

12 years ago, my daughters were just 6 and 8.

By this time next year, I will have been blogging for 12 years.

Two years from now, I will have been divorced for 12 years.

There were 12 tribes in Israel.

The first recorded words of Jesus were when he was 12 years old.

Jesus had 12 disciples.

Mary Magdalene is mentioned 12 times in the Bible.

Revelation 12 tells one of my favorite stories – about a woman clothed with the sun, the moon at her feet, and a crown of 12 stars round her head.

There is another favorite story of mine that tells of the Hemorrhaging Woman who bled for 12 years.

There are 12 letters in the word “hemorrhaging.”

I can tell her story in 12 sentences.

12 years of bleeding meant 12 years of isolation, pain, and grief.

She had tried every medicine, method, and mantra – all to no avail.

Still and always she held on to hope.

When she heard about the man with the 12 disciples – a healer and miracle-worker – she was determined to put herself in his path.

“Surely, if I can but touch the hem of his garment, I will be healed.”

So she did.

And she was.

He said, “Who touched me?”

His 12 disciples were incredulous as they looked at the pressing crowd and said, “What do you mean who touched you?”

The woman finally stepped forward and said, “I did.”

He responded: “Your faith has healed you.”

Then he continued on his way – soon after to heal a 12-year-old girl.

I can finish this piece in just 12 more sentences. I promise.

“Your faith has healed you,” he said.

It was not the Divine, the miracle-worker, the man that made the difference.

It was her.

She made the healing happen.

That feels hugely important to name and remember.

My word for this year is “healing.”

It is now the 12th month.

Maybe there is still time.

And maybe neither time nor healing is the point.

Maybe it’s about still and always holding on to hope.

Maybe it’s about faith – not in a miracle, a miracle worker, or even a man, but in myself.

May it be so.

This woman’s story, the Woman of Revelation 12, even Mary Magdalene (mentioned 12 times), are but three of those I work with to create your 2017 New Year SacredReading. Like the three years previous, I discount them significantly for my birthday (this year 56% for my 56th year) through 12/24. Learn more here. Order yours today and save!

Hear what others have to say:

On an intuitive zing, I signed up for one of Ronna’s SacredReadings. Surprising because my natural response to anything related to stories from the Bible is something along the lines of, “Wow the Bible sucks.” But the way Ronna unfurled the story had me in tears – epiphany after epiphany rolling in and washing over me. I am walking with a new understanding of myself and the most important ways for me to move through the world that are resonant down to the core. With this beautiful reading, and one conversation with Ronna, I feel like my life has changed. ~ Nona Jordan

My SacredReading was both complex and evocative. Shimmering with meaning and metaphor. As I read through it, it began to expand – and open, like a nested doll. This work is archetypal. Each layer has a deeper meaning. Ronna’s wisdom led me into my soul story where I was able to make new connections to my own life experience. Brilliant work. ~ Amy Oscar

Last year I bought a Sacred Reading when I was at a huge turning point and had no idea what a transformational year lay ahead of me. My Reading was exactly what I needed to hear to help me finally publish my book, and believe in how important my own journey is. ~ Meghan Genge

]]>It’s my birthday. It’s your gift.http://ronnadetrick.com/its-my-birthday-its-your-gift-2017/
Wed, 30 Nov 2016 11:30:04 +0000http://ronnadetrick.com/?p=23832If I could give you anything, it would be the irrefutable knowledge that you are of value, that you are of worth, that you are worthy – of profound love, of deep favor, of powerful wisdom, of the closest companionship, kindness, and support.

I’d give you all of this because for far too many years of my own life, it is what I most wanted, what I most needed, and miraculously, what has been mine all along. I’d give you all this because it is all mine to give!

And since today is my birthday, that’s exactly what I’m doing!

Meet the sacred She who chooses you, who walks alongside you,
who offers you exactly what you desire and deserve in 2017 and beyond.

It’s my birthday. It’s your gift.

]]>Yes, yesterday. Now what?http://ronnadetrick.com/yes-yesterday-11-9-2016-now-what/
Thu, 10 Nov 2016 11:30:00 +0000http://ronnadetrick.com/?p=23806Yesterday, November 9, 2016, I did all the things I always do:

I made coffee. I journaled. I gave my daughter a hug before she left for school. I made my bed. I took a shower. I blow-dried my hair. I put on makeup. I got dressed. I spritzed perfume. I donned earrings, necklace, bracelets, ring. I cooked oatmeal and added berries. I perused and posted on Facebook. I answered a few emails. I prepared for and talked with my clients.

You’d think it was just another day.

Which it was, of course.

Which it was not – in any way, shape, or form.

In the midst of doing all the things I always do, my heart was strong-but-heavy. I could not, nor can I yet today, escape the permeating awareness of the days-ago election or tomorrow’s unknown.

But as I did all the things I always do, as I sought to incorporate reality into my psyche, as my day went on and I listened to my daughters, talked with friends, answered more emails, fixed dinner, and prepared for a night of sleep, I found myself thinking of other women. Centuries of them – who survived atrocities, hatred, violence, genocide, slavery, silencing, shame, and yes, misogyny. Who made the bed and hugged their children and got dressed and cooked breakfast. Who lived and lived and lived.

The more I thought about them, the more I thought about the particular women within the stories I tell. Somehow, despite all the silencing and shame they’ve known, the atrocities of their time, the layers of theology and dogma (and misogyny) under which they’ve been buried, they have survived. And that gives me hope. They give me hope.

Where there’s hope, there’s life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again. ~ Anne Frank

Yes. Hope is what we need. And hope is what women offer us. Centuries of them. As far back as the stories I tell, even further, and every age since. They rally on our behalf. They rise up and remind us that we are to do the same, that we will do the same.They come alongside us, even still, even today, especially today, in solidarity and strength. They catch our tears, soothe our tired brows, mend our broken hearts, and whisper – call – sing us back into strength.

Can you hear them? Listen closer. They are chanting, drumming, thundering the words they most want us to remember, most want us to believe, most want us to embody: “Live and live and live!”

There are moments when I feel like giving up or giving in, but I soon rally again and do my duty as I see it: to keep the spark of life inside me ablaze. ~ Etty Hillesum

This is what we will do: live and live and live.

So, my friends, let us have faith in each other. Let us not grow weary. Let us not lose heart, for there are more seasons to come, and there is more work to do. ~ Hillary Clinton (from yesterday’s concession speech)

These are the things we always do – day-in, day-out: we hope, we persevere, we have faith in each other, we do not lose heart, we work, we love, and we live and we live and we live.

]]>November 9, 2016http://ronnadetrick.com/november-9-2016/
Wed, 09 Nov 2016 13:38:42 +0000http://ronnadetrick.com/?p=23797I woke up this morning to news I did not expect and cannot believe: Donald Trump has won the presidential election.

Given such, I would expect to be spinning and spewing and raging. But unbelievably, I am calm and quiet. I sit here at my desk, in the dark, stunned, and wondering why that is, wondering why I am not in tears, wondering why I am not sinking into immediate (and appropriate) anxiety.

It takes a while, but then it comes to me: I’m listening to something else. Something steady and solid, something strong.

I’m listening to my heart.

And this morning, this day, my heart is loud – louder than my mind can scream. My heart is wise – wiser than all that assaults my sensibilities. My heart holds truth – truer than what the news reports. My heart is strong – stronger than anything and anyone who attempts to defeat it.

True, it is broken, bleeding, and twisted in pain, but still, it beats. And still, always, it loves.

Yes, love is what I feel this morning – the deep, aching kind. For this world, for this nation, for our future. And most of all, yes, most of all, for my daughters – their world, their nation, their future.

My mind cannot, will not make sense of this day nor all the events and choices that conspired to make this morning’s news a reality. But my mind is not what serves me now. Nor fear. Nor anger. (Though yes, grief. Definitely grief.)

My heart is what serves. It can be trusted. It is strong. It will love. And love always trumps fear.

]]>On the Phone vs. in a Pewhttp://ronnadetrick.com/on-the-phone-vs-in-a-pew/
Sun, 06 Nov 2016 11:30:41 +0000http://ronnadetrick.com/?p=23690I had a conversation yesterday with a friend. She’s married. I’m not anymore. She lives in the South. I definitely do not. She has a fulltime job outside her home. Mine keeps me here, in yoga pants most days and perched at my desk in my dining room. She attends church. I do not.

Despite our differences, it’s this last point that is our greatest place of connection. I, for all intents and purposes, left the church when I left my marriage to the pastor. She still attends, but wishes either that she didn’t have to or that she could find some resonance and affinity within. And for reasons that I completely understand, she still attends, she stays, she tolerates, and often – silently and in isolation – she rages. I listen. I nod. I get it.

I wonder if her situation is unique. But before the question even completely forms in my mind, I already know the answer. She is not. She is just like me. For I was her – in a pew every Sunday; longing to hear something, anything different and knowing that I wouldn’t; caught between my desire for community, a safe and nurturing space for my daughters, the lack-of tension my absence would create in my marriage and my ambivalence, oft’ disdain, and endless frustration over what I witnessed, what I heard, what I felt – or didn’t. There’s no one solution to this bind for her or for me, no all-inclusive answer that mitigates loss on the one hand and offers respite on the other.

There was a day when people attended church and (mostly) agreed with what they heard. They nodded in affirmation. They spoke or interned an “amen” when the message or the music resonated. They embraced friends – aware that they were among their own. And they left the confines of that sacred space feeling stronger, uplifted, encouraged – shoulders squared to the week ahead and grateful for a place and time in which they felt at home.

I suppose I am somewhat jaded, but I no longer believe that church is where I will experience this. Not because the people within are incapable of such, but because the system of beliefs to which I must accede in order to fit in is too incongruous for my soul to survive.

…church has become a spiritual, even a theological struggle for me. I have found it increasingly difficult to sing hymns that celebrate a hierarchical heavenly realm, to recite creeds that feel disconnected from life, to pray liturgies that emphasize salvation through blood, to listen to sermons that preach an exclusive way to God, to participate in sacraments that exclude others, and to find myself confined to a hard pew in a building with no windows to the world outside. ~ Diana Butler Bass, Grounded

And yet, miraculously and gratefully, my soul does survive – and thrive – completely outside of this system (something I disbelieved while still within). I am supported and strengthened by relationship with people who are nothing like me, who do not know the stories of which I speak, who wonder who I am talking about (and why) when I mention the Syrophoenician or the Shunnamite, and who love me still.

Then every once in a while, like this morning, I have a conversation with a woman who gets my every story (including the Syrophoenician and the Shunnamite); we are separated by miles and even similarity, but no less desirous of friendship, kinship, and talk of sacred stuff. I hang up and my soul breathes in a whispered “amen;” I utter an unspoken prayer of gratitude and give a wink-and-a-nod to something that feels akin to grace…maybe even God.

It is heartbreaking to be alone in one’s beliefs or lack thereof, even more so to be surrounded by people who believe (or don’t) far differently than oneself and feel unseen, unheard, unnoticed, unappreciated, un-understood. I am so profoundly aware-and-thankful that this is not my story today. And I hold such a place of tenderness and affinity for those who remain – for a myriad of legitimate reasons – in a story that is even remotely less-than the one they long for. Religious. Relational. In any form.

May we be ones who honestly name heartbreak – first and foremost our own; then on behalf of others. May we be holders and creators of safety and the sacred (even if “only” on the phone). May we be ones who bravely leave spaces that are not safe, do not heal, do not encourage and uplift. If we cannot, at least not yet or not now, may we be ones who boldly bear and bridge the gap, the ravine, the in-between. And may all of us – no matter our location, our circumstances, our beliefs, or the state of our souls, be ones who both receive and offer what is hungered for most, needed most, all that really matters: love and love and love.